Scarlet Bohemia
by Naisumi
Summary: The 2nd story in the as of yet unnamed three-part arc...(the first part is Sound of Redness) ^-^ Lance/Scott! Scott/Lance! [SLASH!] Wheee...lots of insanity. This part was surprisingly spoofy XD


Title: Scarlet Bohemia 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R 

Pairings: Lance/Scott (Hints of Pietro/Todd--maybe more development later ^.~) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Slash, for one thing. Uh...dark, mature/adult themes ^^; um...right. Lots-o-angst.   


Notes: Chummy Lance and Pietro! Whoo-hoo! Oh yes, there might be tiny bits of L/P yumminess in here *rolls eyes* I couldn't help myself--I mean, they're _such_ good friends in my universe ^.~ But fear not, they're being chummy in the act of discussing...well...I'll let you see for yourself ^.~;; 

  


Additional Notes: This is _not_ betad. Oh, and after the first 4 pages or so, I decided to try my hand at using html to italicize thoughts. ^-^ let's see how that goes over. Also, I dedicate a good portion of this to Morwen for waiting so patiently XD *glomps Mor* 

  


Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! Comments and critics welcome, flames will be posted and laughed at and then used for the litter box. 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch -- 

  
~You think you're special...you do, I can see it in your eyes I can see it when you laugh at me...look down on me and walk around on me...~ *~*'My Way,' by Limp Bizkit 

  
--   


It had reminded him of a world carved out of shadows, etched and beaten and molded by the ruffled rhythm of ravens' wings. Warped memories, disturbed thoughts, scorched trenches in the reflecting pool of his mind. He didn't want to confront it, but saw himself in the other's hidden eyes all the same. His eyes had been veiled by the darkness of guilt, of a million regrets and sun-kissed illusions shattered. His eyes had been shuttered close, locking away the tears as if for fear that they would rust away his skin, as if they would betray his heart to the outer world. Inside, he knew, probably lay a chamber of secrets, haunting him at night, in the hush of the quiet black. Yes, they were the same, for he himself felt as the other did, the other with desperately closed eyes and shame writ on his countenance.   


But Scott Summers was better, luckier, kinder than he was, filled with what dim gray sunlight the towering skyscrapers had allowed. He carried away that light in his heart instead of the murky darkness and proved his courage by trying to live normally, trying with all that standing within him to not let past years scar him. And as if that wasn't enough, he smiled, though not as easily as those of unscarred background. It could be noted that it wasn't possible to discern genuine brightness from Scott's smile because of the burgundy shades that always graced his hidden expressions, glasses that held his secrets in check, that played guard to his thoughts. However, they weren't only a cryptic device, but also the very ruby barrier that barred questioning eyes from splashes of color, droplets of gem-like hues that painted the world.   


They thought he hated so much, that he actually took the time to be bitter, to be hurt. They don't know anything, he though almost snidely, they don't know. Maybe he did hate, and maybe he did harbor bitterness. But to be harvest precious energy to _be_ bitter? 

  


"If life's taught me anything," he whispered, voice rough with the smoke of tears not shed, life lit cherry bright like the distinct glow of a cigarette, "It's that it's too short..." 

Instead of silence, Lance heard the creak of the wooden bench beside him and looked over before glancing away at the sight of ashen hair, gleaming cerulean eyes. The voice of his friend followed him, asking quietly yet quickly, "Sodidyoutalktohim?" 

The syllables ran together like watercolor and filled his ears with doubt. The dark-haired boy closed his eyes before turning to watch Pietro with a hooded gaze. "Yeah...I did." There was a pause, and then the soft plunk of a pebble sinking into the clear water of the lake. Pietro grinned, rolling one grayish piece of gravel between his thumb and forefinger, "How'ditgo?" 

Lance squelched the urge to quirk an eyebrow at the school-girlish tone of the speedster's voice, and was tempted to ignore the prodding question, but answered it nonetheless, "Pretty well." He was promptly pelted immediately after his reticent statement by one irregularly shaped pebble. 

In response, he stared at Pietro, feeling some of the gloom evaporate at the deliberate immaturity of his friend. "C'mon, Lance--sharethedetails,man!" Lance rolled his eyes, rubbing absently at where the small stone had struck him. 

"There's nothing to tell, Quickie...we talked, I gave him his shades, I punched him--the end." Ducking his head, he couldn't help but smirk as he heard the irritated growl from his left and the volley of pebbles that came afterwards. 

"You punched him?! Areyouinsane?!!" 

"Well..." Lance smiled slightly, ignoring the huffy mutterings that Pietro grumbled to himself. The quiet settled about them again before the snow-haired teen asked curiously, "Why?" 

Cracking his knuckles for lack of anything else to do, Lance stared pensively out at the rippling water, vaguely noting the skipping pebbles that Pietro steadily tossed into the glowing horizon. "I was proving a point," He answered somewhat distantly, burnished sienna eyes glittering with the fading rose of the setting sun. 

He heard Pietro snort softly but the azure-eyed boy surprisingly didn't make a witty crack at the ambiguous reply as was expected. Instead, he chose to chuck another piece of gravel out onto the passion-painted water of the lake, "And this point would be...?" Lance heard the underlying solemnity beneath the teasing gaiety. Pietro was taking him more seriously than before, and he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or lost now that the familiar camaraderie was gone. 

Shrugging uncomfortably, Lance let the silence lend to his thoughts and then murmured slowly, "That he wasn't weak. That'd I...someone'd be there." It took a moment, but then Pietro inquired just as meditatively, "How'd you prove that?" 

Amusement highlighted his voice, similar to the reddish gold spreading sun-warm eagle wings across the land. Lance scowled and gathered his scattered thoughts, attempting to extract a suitable answer from his befuddled mind. Finding no explanation to voice his thoughts with, he shrugged comfortably, not feeling very social. One small stone found its way to the nape of his neck and he turned irritably only to see the sparkling impish blue eyes of his teammate. Housemate. Whatever, Lance grumbled to himself, deciding that at the moment his brain couldn't take much more deep philosophical thinking. 

"Tell," Pietro commanded, a handful of hoary pebbles clattering in his hand, as if the slight youth wielded them now like a mighty javelin, native to some old forgotten Roman battle arena. Now the chocolate-haired boy _did_ arch an eyebrow at his comrade's audacity. But the tale unfolded, falling form his lips, tumbling from his tongue like the roundness of a clipped rose in full bloom. At the end, Lance's voice trickled off, coffee eyes uncertain despite all other bravado. The other with silver-gilded hair and sapphire mood eyes sat still for once, the peeking passion-red sun lighting glowing hues upon his canvas-white tresses. The moment stretched for what seemed forever, and as the cool lips of Night caressed them with lily soft wind, Lance felt a connection between now and the night before. 

Important conversations, a reckless voice sneered impetuously into the crevices of his mind, full of pauses and silence...who needs them? 

I do, Lance reminded himself, and I'll never admit it...but _I_ do. 

Pietro spoke up, the voice uniquely his own filled with an unaccustomed gravity, 

"There's something else there, Lance. Can't you see it?" 

Baffled and slightly defensive, Lance frowned at the solemn snowy-haired youth beside him, "What do you mean?" "I mean..." Motionless for so long, one wiry arm skipped a few pebbles in rapid succession, actions filled with unnecessary gusto. 

"Don't you think Summers acted a little strange?" 

"Scott," Lance corrected absently, flexing his fingers before pressing them as far back as they would go, and repeating the action with his other hand. His companion shot him an exasperated look, quipping dryly, "Hey, it's okay for _you_ to act like this, but _Scott_ isn't some lovesick boy-a, y'know." 

The dark-haired senior froze mid-flex, turning to stare incredulously at the smug pseudo-albino. 

"_Lovesick_?! I'm _not_ lovesick!" Glaring angrily in the face of the ever widening smirk on Pietro Maximoff's face, he turned back to stare out at the moonlit lake. 

"What's _that_ have to do with 'don't you think he was a little strange,' anyway?" 

"Ooh, deft evasion," Pietro teased back, flicking one speckled rock into the almost glowing pool of water. He paused, having exhausted his supply of pebbles, and scooped up another handful. Returning crystal blue eyes to the still-scowling Lance, he smiled beatifically, "Your face is going to freeze that way." "Shut up!" 

Instead of returning with some witty jibe, Pietro shook his head, the maniacal smile slipping off his face. 

"Sounds to me like he might reciprocate, Lancey," He said, cerulean eyes dancing with flecks of starlight silver. Lance rested his chin in one hand, peering into the distant night, "Reciprocate what?" 

While waiting for Pietro's answer--which was surprisingly slow tonight--he absently came to the conclusion that everyone who knew Pietro _needed_ a mental catalogue of some sort in order to follow his conversation and spasmodic 'topic jumping.' Then again, Lance thought with amusement, on the worser days, having the world's largest filing cabinet wouldn't be much help. 

Pietro jumped up, hopping onto the wooden siding that edged the loose gravel path, and paced, omitting any balancing procedures that any normal person might need. Instead, he clasped both hands behind his back and peered thoughtfully up at the crescent moon, suspended in the black sapphire night. Withholding all conversation courtesy, Pietro ignored Lance's question and opted for answering it in his usual roundabout way, 

"If _I_ was Mr. Anal-Retentive-with-Really-Cool-Shades...What would I have done? Oh,that'sright," Whirling around, he leaned forward precariously and playfully tapped Lance on the forehead, 

"BlastedyouintoKingdomNowhere--" Grinning, he snatched his hand back as Lance batted at it irritably, 

"'cause Lancey Alvers-with-an-s is my e-ne-my," Pietro sing-songed, trademark mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. 

"He was in no mental condition to blow anyone up," Lance pointed out, feeling slightly irked at Pietro's comedic rendition of...what? His lust interest? His _love_ interest? 

Jeez, you're letting him get to you, the dark-haired boy berated himself crossly before turning back to the other boy. Pietro quirked an eyebrow, hand on hip in a considering stance and other limbs akimbo. 

"And so that's enough of an excuse for him to be alllll friendly to the other 'team?'" Pietro grinned and hopped up and down a few times, his slight frame barely eliciting movement from the sturdy wood. 

"Face it, Lancey--you just had a warm'n'fuzzy moment with Shades slash Summers slash Mr. Anal-Retentive-with-Really-Cool-Shades slash _Scott_." 

Landing lightly in the gravel, Pietro smirked and stuck his face close to Lance's, getting as in-your-face as he could be and whispering breathily, "How'ditfeel?" 

Scowling even more angrily, Lance pushed the taunting boy away and snapped, "I was just helping with a sitch I knew was shitty, okay? _No one_ deserves to feel that way--not even one of the X-geeks." 

Pietro sighed with exaggerated melodrama, flopping down beside his irritated comrade, "C'_mon_ Lancey! You _told_ me that you had a 'thang' for him, so why don't you getupoffyourassand_do_something?!" 

It started as a whine and ended as a demand, thoroughly causing Lance to do a double-take before yelping defensively, angrily, "Do _what_?! He's the freakin' leader of the freakin' X-losers! What the hell am I supposed to do?! Go up to him and say, 'Hey there, guess what--I like you _that_ way.'?!" 

Before Lance could continue on his heated tirade, he was stopped by the extremely unnerving sight of Pietro staring wide-eyed at some point beyond his shoulders. 

"Pietro?" 

"Um...yeah, Lance...that's e-exactly what you should do..." 

Then Lance turned around, and gazed dumbfounded into the endless red that was Scott Summers' field of view. 

-- 

Scott stared with numbness and a sort of light-headedness that he wasn't sure was good or bad. Now he had the attention of two pairs of eyes--cobalt blue and coffee brown. He wanted to scream and yell, howl and shriek--anything to disrupt the burdensome silence that had swathed itself about them. _W-_What_ did he just say?!_ His mind demanded shrilly, _'Like me _that_ way?!'_ Thoughts awhirl, eyes wide behind cherry red lenses, Scott struggled to think of something to say, something to do. Lance was staring with burnished toffee eyes, his skin paler than his usual healthy glow. It was distracting; the evening sheen of moonlight highlighting the other's dark mahogany hair, parted lips with pearly teeth beyond, the strangely bright reflection of rippling waves playing on his smooth skin just as the whispering breeze tousled his locks and-- 

_Stop!_ Scott's mind screeched to a halt and he promptly began to hyperventilated. _I am _not_ thinking this--I am _not_ in this situation--I did _not_ hear Lance Alvers say--_

Then his thoughts shut down and all he could do was follow the first instinctive urge that fought through all other frantic emotion: to run. 

-- 

Lance stared dumbly after the fleeing chestnut-haired boy, attempting to process what just happened. He couldn't remember when he had stood up, but he found himself on his feet, a sense of dismay, desperation, and hurt exploding in his mind. 

Distantly, he could hear Pietro call his name worriedly, could hear him tell him to run after the figure of Scott, madly dashing a way from the two of them as if they were hellhounds. 

Before Lance could give another reaction, a blur of windbreaker blue and luminescent white sped past him. In the next instant, Scott appeared where Pietro had been previously, looking rumpled, startled, and wind-tousled. A second later, the sienna-eyed boy heard the playful breathy whisper of, "Here's your chance, Lancey," before Pietro disappeared in another streak of color. 

Silence filled the space within, as if leaving a moment of quiet in recognition of Pietro's absence, before he heard the other mutant cursing softly under his breath. 

_Okay,_ He told himself, turning to face the irritated and nervous ginger-haired boy, _Just be...casual._

"Hey," Lance said, doing his best not to look panicked. Affecting his patented "cool, calm, and don't give a damn" pose, he leaned against one of the nearby trees. 

"H-hey," Scott replied anxiously, turning his head almost erratically, as if he were trying to drink in the moon-bathed scenery around them. He fidgeted anxiously and stared fixedly at the lake. Somewhat feeling out of place, out of time, Lance asked conversationally, "What's up?" 

_Stalling, are you?_ gibed a taunting voice from the darkness of his mind. 

_Shut up,_ He shot back desperately, _I'll just ask if he's okay, then tell him what he heard earlier was just...j-just _sarcasm_._

_Right,_ replied the voice, sneering maliciously, _You keep telling that to yourself._

_Myself?_ Lance snarled back, before his anger was lost, the irrationality of the whole argument ramming horns first into him. Luckily, Scott had yet to respond; instead, the bespectacled teen was sitting stock still, a nervous flush staining his cheeks rose. The dark-haired senior could practically see the well-oiled gears in his alleged rival's head crumble and dissolve under the pressure, the loud blaring of an alarm screeching 'Red alert! Red alert!' muffling his thoughts. 

Strangely, he didn't feel as hyperactively upset as he thought he would've in such a situation. Attributing the nice lack-of-panicking to the calm numbness that was coating his mind with the sticky sweet honey of being in Scott Summers presence, Lance basked in the calmness he was experiencing, expecting the heavy anvil of distress to crash over him at any moment. 

Scott congratulated himself on not completely flipping his lid before quietly freaking out. For some reason or other, the only thought that was running through his head was 'the Mad Hatter was sitting across from the Hare whereas the Dormouse occasionally moved from the teapot and back between sips of raspberry cocoa.' Before his mind could beat itself up for not 'getting it together,' his hormones decided to have their say, and happily pointed out that Lance had a really, really tight-looki--er...nice ass. (A/N: So _this_ is what happens when I try to write angst after eating a box of gobstoppers...Ooh, I see a pattern. I can summarize my three-part arc very simply: Angst-->Fluff-->Lime! *cackles* Yes, dear readers, in the next part, you get LIME!...well, that's the plan, anyway.) 

_I hate you,_ Scott told himself before turning his overheated brain back to the current crisis at hand. 

_Y'know,_ his lower half leered, _We aren't just overheated because of nerves..._

_Shut up!_ he hissed back, wishing he could glare at his brain and its counterparts. 

"Summers?" 

_'Summers,'_ his brain mimicked, _Why doesn't Alvers just go shove his head up his ass and leave us along?_

_'Me!'_ Scott yelled back, becoming increasingly distraught, _'ME!' Not 'us!' 'ME!!!'_

There was an abrupt silence and for a moment, Scott almost had a coronary for fear that he had said something aloud. _Waitasecond,_ he frowned, edgy and starting to freak himself out. 

_Since when did it matter that Lance doesn't think we're--er...I'm a dork?_

Suddenly, he felt exhausted, his energy spent. 

"Nothing much," Scott mumbled tiredly, his subconscious supplying him an answer for a mundane question he didn't remember, nor wished to remember. For a split second, he felt an intense resentment for Lance, and afterwards, he felt guilty. 

_Dammit,_ He mourned, _Why'd you have to do this, Lance? Right when I'm just getting my life back together..._

"You are?" Scott stared at the mild question followed by a disarmingly sincere, "I'm glad. Life can be such a bitch sometimes." 

_I must've spoken out loud,_ the russet-haired teen thought absently, attempting to dissect the 'I'm glad' and beating his head against a metaphorical brick wall when he could find nothing but genuine relief. 

_Error! 404! Does not compute!_ his mind screamed while his hormones continued with _Par-tay!!_

_That makes no sense,_ Scott informed them/himself before being brought back to the world outside his well-developed cranium (A/N: I believe I mention this later...However, I personally do not believe his cranium is all that well-developed. In fact, with his hair, it kind of looks like a mushroom from the side...) 

"Are you okay?" 

"Peachy," he replied, smiling too-widely at Lance's quirked eyebrow. 

In the next second, several things happened, namely Lance shifting slightly and leaning towards Scott, Scott freaking out, a particularly hard gust of wind slamming full force into them both, and all self-restraint disappearing from Scott's panic-stricken mind. The end result was Lance' landing face up and Scott landing face down...on top of the other boy. Then, just as quickly as time had overtaken both mutants, it screeched to a halt the minute flesh collided with gravel, and in turn, flesh met flesh. And with time, thoughts and logic disappeared as well, leaving a blinding array of disheveled emotions. 

Lance couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't look away from the transfixing gleam of red that hid what must have been beautiful eyes. The reflection of himself was lost upon him, and he peered past, as if hoping to divulge the enigmas from the crypt and catacombs of Scott's soul, hoping to erase al the pain with his searing gaze. In turn, Scott was still, his lips, slivers of rose-tinted peach, slightly apart, chest unconsciously heaving, dragging in ragged breaths, stinging night air crackling with live tautness. 

It seemed to clear then, what Pietro had said before--'Isn't there something more?' The something more was there, filled with military yet unruly locks of silken chestnut hair, cupid's bow mouth, broad shoulders slumped with burden yet proudly held with innate strength--eternal redness, not crimson with blood or guilt or past days, but scarlet with passion and the shining light from a brighter Bohemia that they both had survived. 

He didn't know what would happen afterwards, but his hand moved with their own accord, reverently spanning the warm golden skin of the other's breathless countenance, eyes roving over the milky sheen cast upon russet locks by the golden moon. Fingers tenderly brushed by Scott's cheekbone, regret filing past surface thoughts and emotions for the bruised darkness there. Lance felt and breathed and drank in the splendid scarlet of the slightly crooked glasses, touching and looking with his fingers as if he were the one who was blind without the redness that would so guard his eyes. 

"L--" Scott drew in a sharp gulp of air, almost catching his breath only to feel that tight control evaporate into a giddy fluttering at Lance's wondering fleeting touches. He couldn't discern much from the mahogany-haired boy's eyes because of the dim moonlight, but instead, felt incredible feeling emanate from Lance. The words he had spoken came tumbling back, not just the declaration that Lance had unwittingly confessed to him, but also the support of another evening past, the vivid camaraderie and kinship. His epiphany that Lance wasn't all he'd seen. His epiphany that everything really _would_ be okay. His epiphany... 

_Crap!_ His mind screamed. 

_YES!!_ cheered his hormones. 

Boom, went his logic and all sentient thought. IN that instant, he had yet another epiphany. 

_Yeah_, his mind growled, still recovering from the metaphorical freight train that had just flattened them all, _Maybe it's the epiphany that you're just PLUMB CRAZY!_

With his logic blown away, Scott could only wonder what kind of mind he had that would say 'plumb crazy.' Before his frantic mind could start screeching at him again, his observational skills decided to kick in and point out the painfully obvious fact that he was still on top of Lance. Then, with his mind reeling in shock, his hormones held a small coup d'état and happily noted just how drop dead gorgeous Lance Al-- 

_Nononono!_ his mind shrieked before shutting up rather conspicuously as Lance unconsciously met his eyes. What would be blazing sienna orbs were painted a mellow red, still glowing their true color despite the scarlet-tinted lenses that shielded his soul from the outside realm of untainted vision. There was an unnamed emotion that projected itself into the taut air, vaulting even into the haze of crimson that filled his view. Lance's fingers had stopped their haphazard roam over his skin, leaving a chilled tingle in their wake as he withdrew them. Scott shivered at the loss of warmth, the loss of the strangely gentle touch. He tried to catch his breath, tried to suppress the wave of overwhelming emotion that threatened to break over his mind. The chestnut-haired boy had almost calmed his racing mind and heart when the other said slowly, consideringly, "Scott..." 

_Holy shit!_ yelped his mind, and Scott couldn't help but wonder when his thoughts had become so profane. Meanwhile, his dumbfounded logic pointed out rather stupidly, _He's never called us Scott before._ As Scott berated himself for calling himself "us," his hormones did a small victory dance, thus causing an enormous headache to beseige his spinning skull. His logic then completely lost it and disappeared into the hormonal haze that was his mind, skipping off while singing like a dying hippopotamus "Lady Marmalade" from Moulin Rouge. 

With the loss of logic, Scott was forced to react on instinct and promptly dove off of Lance's tight, hot, har-- 

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ His hormones were accordingly having the crap kicked out of them by his mind...or, they would be if they weren't running around in circles while laughing crazily. 

_Like, majorly delayed reaction, yo,_ one part of his brain noted tactfully. Scott had the disturbing impression that that part sounded like the demented love-child of Kitty and Todd. This prompted a horrified shriek from all of his mind, except for his hormones, whom only froze and drew a blank. 

_Damn hormones,_ his mind told his body amiably, which replied stiffly, _Mayday, mayday, man overboard._

_He's stuck in Cyclops mode,_ the hormones said sweetly, _Don't you think spandex is so incredibly sexy?_

His mind predictably froze at that raunchy suggestion, and upon failing to process it, rebooted with something similar to a "Windows is shutting down" sequence. 

Throughout all the craziness that was abound, Lance was staring at Scott strangely. 

_He's looking at us!_ his hormones figuratively beamed happily. 

_Probably thinkin' 'bout how we're absolute freaks,_ his mind replied cynically. 

_Stop talking--er...thinking in first person plural,_ Scott fretted, fearing more and more for his sanity, which was resting in not-so-peace in a conveniently placed graveyard. 

_Damn you all,_ added Scott's flight-or-fight instinct, which was currently tacked to a metaphorical wall in a flytrap. 

_If you were free,_ his hormones replied matter-of-factly, _We'd _never_ get any._

_'We,' 'we,' 'we!'_ the mind screeched indignantly, _What's all this 'we' stuff!?_

_Whee!_ chimed in the disturbingly squeaky 'love-child of Todd and Kitty,' before being beaten to death with a chewed-out slipper. 

"Scott," Lance repeated, and abruptly all the zaniness ceased, all maniacal thoughts abandoned in favor of drowning in that nectar sweet voice. 

His mind reminded him of rape; he shrank back for fear of being scalded. 

His hormones murmured all the things Lance had done, could do, was doing; his knees felt weak, as if they could no longer support his body. 

Logic hissed about responsibility and how he was perverse; how he shouldn't be having such thoughts about the enemy--about another _guy_. 

Then, something unheard of whispered into his mind, leaving body and logic to fade into the sudden blackness. Scott tried to discern the foreign warmth invading his thoughts, unsure of it yet becoming instantly transfixed by the dazzling glow that seemed to clear his vision of the foggy red, to fill his eyes with a certain freshness similar to another feeling...another unnamable emotion. 

_Maybe it's not "right,"_ It whispered, almost musical in its resonance, _Maybe it's not right in the eyes and ways of your teacher or that which has been taught--but have you ever truly looked through your own eyes? The eyes of a natural-born leader, not through those of one who was _made_? Instead of forgetting who you were, why don't you use that to find who you really are?_

_A murderer,_ Scott replied bitterly to the unknown voice, remembering all the emotional mire from the night before. 

_A murderer...that's who I am. I killed that man...And I..._

"Summers, I [i]told[/i] you to get over it," 

Scott blinked and turned to stare blankly at Lance, who was sounding quite irritated...in a friendly way. He frowned slightly and tried to get his thoughts together, to return to what he felt [i]had[/i] to be the brink of what would answer everything. The dark-haired senior paid no mind to whatever internal conflicts that seemed to have laid siege upon the other's mind; instead, he continued, 

"You're not a fuckin' murderer, got it?" 

_This we can handle,_ his mind murmured, strangely calm, _We can handle anti-guilt arguments, oddly supportive comments...we can handle that from _him_._

'Him?' Scott wondered numbly. Since when did Lance stop being 'Alvers' and start being 'him?' 'Him!' It was like referring to... 

_The enemy,_ came from somewhere to the left of his logic, a stiff military voice, _It's not right._

It's not right. 

Vaguely, Scott could hear Lance's voice, low and smooth, calmly refuting any guilt he could have, did have--but all that echoed in his hollow thoughts were the words, 'it's not right.' 

Before, he had thought that. Now, that foreign mental voice, that difference, had softly, gently, gradually steered his thoughts away from 'I hate Alvers' to 'I hate Lance,' and from that, to 'I hate having to fight Lance' to 'I love not fighting Lance' to the ominous 'I love--' 

_No!_ shrieked practically every fiber in his body, _That's not right! That's NOT right! That's not RIG--_

_--ht,_ finished the same quiet voice from before. _Right. It's right--so right--it's rightit'srightit'srightit'srightit'sright..._

Not withstanding, the soft murmur that had paled in comparison to the other quarreling thoughts now rose above, swelling like a billowing tide, blossoming into a full array of colors and filling his thoughts with its rich melodious rightness. 

"Scott?" 

Worried sienna met the filmy red of obliviousness, long fingers grasping unresisting forearms. 

_He's worried about me,_ Scott thought in a daze, before feeling bile rise in his throat. 

_No one's really been worried about me..._

_Professor Xavier does,_ pointed out the fading cynicism of his stilled mind. 

_Worried _about_, not worried _for_,_ contradicted the vanishing logic, _the Professor's always been worried _for_ us._

_Lance has pretty eyes,_ came from the rapidly disappearing meaningless hormones, which continued solemnly, _they look brown even through all this red._ Brown, Scott noted distantly, like in all the images he had siphoned from Jean's mind. Before he could linger on that thought, however, the military training spat angrily, 

_You're all romanticists._

before vaporizing, being the first to go. 

"You're worried about me?" Scott managed, his voice strangled as he was still confused over the new train of thought. Taking one step back, he demanded with sudden hysteria, "Why are you worried about me?!" 

_Trust me,_ the new voice pleaded, being all that remained, but Scott, with wild eyes and wild thoughts, disregarded the gentleness. 

"Get away!" He yelled, a burst of sudden ferocity surging through him and prompting him to shove the other from him. Shuffling backwards, Scott took note of Lance's startled--and hurt?--expression, before turning frantically and breaking into a full run. 

Lance stared wide-eyed after Scott as he dashed away, his brain coming up with the intelligent reaction of, "...huh?" 

(A/N: Lancey has a brief interlude with insanity. Whee!) 

_Stuuuupiiiiid!_ shrieked his disappointed hormones, which, for some reason, sounded like the Taco Bell dog. 

_Oops,_ added what sounded like his slightly disturbed logic. 

_So, why are we sharing a mind with the Taco Bell dog?_ wondered the ever-present cynicism. 

Meanwhile, Avalanche was chuckling darkly, _That's right...run, Cyclops, run!!_

_Oh, shut up!_ Lance growled, feeling rather annoyed. 

_Go after him!_ urged his hormones while his logic sneered in return, _No pets allowed,_

_The world's going to end tomorrow, courtesy of those giant pancakes in New England,_ intoned the inbred conspiracy theorist, whom was about as omnipresent as the cynicism. 

A little better than Scott at accepting the fact that he had conflicting voices inside his head, Lance promptly ignored his hormones and paranoia. Unfortunately, this left him with his cynicism and logic, the latter of which was promptly knocked out by the former. 

_You fuckin' fairy,_ jeered the bitterness, which had accompanied the cynicism, _You scared him off!_

_I didn't mean to,_ was Lance's clipped reply. His self-esteem wondered distantly why it was always the size of a thimble when it came to Scott. 

"Did Shades run away?" came a sudden breathy voice from his right, interrupting the derogatory rant from the cynical part of his mind. 

"Pietro," the dark-haired boy turned to the other, who was leaning nonchalantly against one of the trees. 

Pietro arched an eyebrow as the older mutant heaved a quiet sigh, "How'd it go?" 

"Really effin' well," Lance returned with a scowl and much sarcasm. 

"I really fucked this up," He added, rubbing his temple with the knuckle of his pointer finger. 

"He ran off again, huh?" Pietro pushed away from the tree, sauntering over to where Lance sat heavily on one of the benches. 

"It's okay," he chirped, "I'll go find him." 

Not lifting his head from his hands, Lance mumbled quietly, "No--just let him go." 

Puzzled, the cerulean-eyed boy watched his friend, not being able to help a tinge of worry to invade his thoughts. 

"Well..." he said slowly, "At least you don't have to worry about it anymore. I mean, you got it out of the way, right?" 

There was a pause, then the dull answer of, "No." 

_Wow, negativity,_ Pietro thought with a silent whistle. 

"So you didn't talk about the L-O-V-E?" 

"No." 

"Didyoukisshim?" 

Lance frowned, waiting a beat before murmuring, "No." 

"You hesitated," Pietro smirked, pointing accusingly at the umber-haired boy. "Why'd you hesitate?" 

Lance scowled at him, batting away the vindictive finger, "Nothing!" 

Rolling his eyes, the slight youth pounced on the older mutant, grinning roguishly, "C'mon, man! Sharethedetails! Don'tleaveyour'olbuddyhangin'inthedark!" 

Once it became obvious that glaring heatedly at the hyperactive teen wasn't going to work, Lance sighed and gave in, too exhausted to properly fight tooth and nail for his privacy, "Well..." 

-- 

Slowing to a walk, Scott peered about him through a startlingly blurry visage of red. 

_Dammit, no!_ He yelled at himself angrily, _I'm not going to cry! Not because of him--not here, not now...not ever._

_That's right,_ encouraged his military side, _Suck it up._

__Lance'd_ comfort us,_ pouted his hormones. _He's soooo effin' hot--_

_No!_ shrieked his previously silent mind, _he's evil!_

_He helped us last night,_ the previous voice said softly, and was met by silence from all else. 

_He did, didn't he?_ mused Scott's logic, _...and he doesn't _seem_ to have any ulterior motives..._

_Of course he does,_ insisted the Cyclops persona, _he's with the Brotherhood!_

_Post-Mystique,_ noted the slowly converting logic, _there's no Brotherhood anymore, really._

_Once a rat, always a rat._ retorted stiff paranoia. 

_Nonono!_ interrupted the hormones, whom had always been on Lance's 'side,' _he helped! Which means he cares! Which means you--I--we should go back an-and BOINK!_

_He sounds suspiciously like Pietro,_ observed the logic, which had now defected and switched sides, _but he _does_ have a point._

_Now, he doesn't!_ roared the paranoia and mind. Scott was beginning to get a headache again. 

_Ooh, are your Spidey-senses, like, totally tingling, yo?_

There was a stunned silence before the rest of his mind exclaimed, _I thought we'd killed you!!_ and thus lay siege upon the demented voice again. 

_I need to be committed,_ Scott thought with despair. He paused, then wondered, _Should I go back?_

_Yes!!!_ chorused the voice, logic, and hormones. 

_No!!!_ yelped paranoia, sanity, and instinct. 

Then, being the obedient little boy he was, Scott stood absolutely still, torn between decisions and conflicting options slash voices. 

_Like, oww..._ whined the Kitty/Todd voice before it was promptly thrown into a wall. 

_What're you just STANDING there for, you MORON?! Gogogo!!_

_No way! He can't go! That's wrong! It's not JUST A GUY! It's LANCE ALVERS!_

_Aww, what, can't take the heat?_

_Shut up!_

_But we lov--_

_No, we don't! It's Lance!_

_Lance!_

_Stop sounding so damn triumpha--_

_No, LANCE!_

If brains could point, his would be pointing so much that it'd look like it got stuck during Saturday Night Fever. Within reasonable constraints. 

Scott froze, disturbed at having unwittingly walked back to where they had been before. He was now in the brush, a mere fifteen feet from Lance and...Pietro? 

"So, that's what happened?" The silver-haired boy bounced on his heels a few times. Scott instantly became alert, staring at the hyperactive mutant with more than a little trepidation. 

_What happened where and when and how and to whom?_ demanded the Cyclops part of his psyche. 

_How are _we_ supposed to know?_ responded logic...well, logically. 

As his (A/N: scary) military persona retreated to a corner of his mind to sulk, Pietro continued beyond the fringe of shrubbery, 

"C'mon, Lancey! It's sooo obvious he likes you and you like him! Now stop acting like a dumbass and talk to him!" 

_I certainly do _not_ like Alvers,_ Scott's mind growled indignantly. 

_Speak for yourself,_ retorted the hormones. 

_He is ourself,_ logic observed mildly. 

Cyclops then roared to the forefront, exclaiming, _They're plotting against us!! Quick, subdue the enemy!_

_I don't think I've ever seen Mr. Military lose his marbles like that,_ paranoia said suspiciously, _do you think the aliens got to him?_

_Aliens?_ repeated logic, looking rather baffled. 

_Yeah, y'know, the ones with the anal probes,_ the hormones joked with a collective snicker. 

Scott frowned, _Anal probes? What are you _talking_ about?!_

Cackling, his hormones ran amuck with Scott's mind in tow. 

_I'm going to smash you!_ his mind yelled. 

_Whee!_

_I really am!_

_Whee!_

_I don't think they're very intimidated,_ logic noted honestly. 

_Shut up,_ his mind retorted. 

Scott heaved a silent sigh, deciding that when his mind told his logic to shut up, it was definitely time for a vacation. Before him, the conversation continued to unfold. (A/N: Tee-hee! My Chem teacher just said 'hardness!' *cracks up*--eh...I'm innocent >.> <.< Of course. *coughs* Anyways...) 

"I can't just _talk_ to him," Lance muttered, "it's just not something you..._**talk**_ about!" 

"Sure, it is," Pietro replied smoothly, his voice as sleek and suave as his overall appearance, "Think about it this way," he went on, skidding to the other side of the dark-haired boy as the latter buried his face in his hands. "Have you ever been attracted to me?" 

_What?!_ shrieked Scott's hormones and mind, for once in agreement about something. An icy surge of dread pulsed through the hidden boy, even as Lance echoed his previous thought with his own incredulous, "What!?" 

"Have you ever been attracted to me?" Pietro repeated calmly. 

"I uh..." Lance gaped up at the slender frame of his best friend. Then, he flushed slightly, glancing away, 

"Um...I...Pietr-Pietro!" He combed on hand through chocolate locks of hair, frustrated, "W-what's this have to do with Scott, anyway?" 

Pietro was quiet, then he said slowly, 

"You have, haven't you?" 

"Dammit, Maximoff! I'm-I'm not _blind_...why does it m--" 

Listen to me, Lance," Steely azure eyes pinned the flustered older boy, "These are the facts. You're not straight--you're bi. You're not blind and you've got a _thing_ for Scott Summers. Never thought about _Cyclops_ that way, have you?" 

"N-Not in _battle,_" Lance faltered beneath the piercing gaze of his comrade. 

"After? Before?" Pietro leaned back, affecting a nonchalant pose, 

"Do you ever _dream_ about him, Lance?" 

His throat felt parched, his voice siphoned out like crystal mineral, mined from the depths of an ebony box. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice harsh in the unnerving quiet. 

"Sure, you do," the silver-haired boy said easily. 

"You just don't want to admit it." 

In the underbrush, Scott felt a pang of guilt rifle through him. It didn't feel right to watch Lance being so intimately interrogated. 

_This is wrong,_ his flight-or-fight instinct told him conversationally from its pinned up position. _We should be running._

_No, we shouldn't,_ his logic replied, watching the conversation with keen, attentive notice, _then they'd know we were here._

_Not if I blasted them,_ growled Cyclops a.k.a. Mr. Military. 

_He's very growly,_ chirped his hormones, whom Scott was absolutely convinced were the mental offspring of Pietro's psyche. 

_Shut up,_ returned the military-training. 

"Admit what? I already told y--" 

"Bullshit, Lance!" Both the amber-eyed boy and Scott were startled at the raw vehemence in the snowy-haired teen's voice. 

"You're in love with him! Dealwithit,dammit!" His voice sounded reedy, too-high, fretful. 

The phrase echoed in Scott's mind--'You're in love with him.' 

_He's in love with me?_ Hearing it before had seemed unreal, unenthusiastic--but hearing it spoken with such verve and passion and pure force... 

"Pietro..." 

Why would Lance be in _love_ with me...? 

"Pietro, kid, get over here--" The soft sigh of clothes against embracing flesh breezed past his ears. Through the blinding scarlet and shadowy leaves of trees over head, he watched Lance hold the azure-eyed boy against him, and felt guilt a second time over for watching. And another time for jealousy. 

Still startled, Lance wrapped his arms about Pietro's quivering frame, the coolness of the night air contrasting sharply by the warmth emanating through the thin fabric of the other boy's shirt. He reviewed their conversation and words, puzzled over his friend's explosive emotions and unprecedented outburst. After a moment, he called quietly, tentatively, "Pietro?" 

There was no response, and the silence stretched languidly in the silvery pool of moonlight about them. 

_Okay, so we were talking about Scott, right?_ he addressed the different aspects of his mind. 

_Riiiiight..._

_And then Scott shows up, disappears, and then Pietro shows up again, right?_

_Riiiiight..._

_And so we talk...and talk...and Pietro asks if I'm attracted to hi--holy shi--HELL no!!_

Horrified at the direction his logic was absently taking, the seismically-inclined mutant wondered blankly (A/N: which should kind of be an oxymoron...) if his paranoia had merged with his logic. 

_Present,_ chimed paranoia before ducking back into his bomb shelter. 

_I don't like you,_ Avalanche scowled at logic, _Why'd you have to make everything so damn complicated?_

Logic figuratively shrugged, _It's my job._

_No, it's not!_ protested paranoia, _It's mine. You're a brain-sucking alien, aren't you?_

_I can't be a brain-sucking alien,_ logic answered reasonably, _I'm you._

_That's just what a brain-sucking alien would say..._

Meanwhile, the closet romanticist that resided in the far, far, _far_ back of Lance's mind (having been banished several girlfriends ago) sighed, _Oh, how are we to choose between the lovely chestnut-saffron locks of beloved Scott-amus and the fair-haired doe-eyed perfection that is Pietro?_

_Threesome!_ cheered his hormones, while Avalanche hissed, _Why don't I shove a crowbar-tamus up your ass-amus?!_ and logic mused at the side, _Pietro's not doe-eyed. In fact, his eyes are quite non-doe-y._

_He's not perfect, either,_ grumbled paranoia. 

_I hate you all,_ added flight-or-fight. 

_We know,_ logic said vaguely, still pondering about Pietro and-- 

_Oh,_ hormones metaphorically blinked, having realized that everyone had more or less interrupted paranoia's increasing panic, _Sorry about that. Please do continue._

_Thanks,_ paranoia nodded towards them with returned cordiality while logic muttered, _I'm surrounded by a bunch of utter idiots..._

Despite his logic's anti-freaking-outage attitude, Lance's brain short-circuited. 

_Ahhh!! Does Pietro like me?! Why is life so weird!? Why does life _suck_?! Why does toast always land the butter side down!?--wait--..._

"Lance?" the muffled voice came from the dainty head pillowed on his shoulder. After a second, Pietro abruptly tilted his chin upwards, promptly clocking Lance with a right hook. 

_Oh my spankin' stars!_ shrieked Scott's mind. 

_Oh your whatin' whats?_ was his logic's startled response. 

_Is he kissing Lance? Huh? Huh?_

_Shut up,_ his hysterical mind snapped at his hormones. 

_Is--wha--huh? Did Pietro just..._hit_ him?_ Scott squinted into the surreal lighting. 

_Wow! This is so exciting!_ his hormones metaphorically grinned, _I feel like such a voyeur!_

Scott recoiled, suddenly disgusted at his fascination and intent surveillance with the conversation between Pietro and Lance...who was currently sprawled out on the ground like a scrumptious fudge dessert with powdered sugar moonbeams dusting his almost close-to-mocha skin and-- 

_AHHHH!_ screamed his mind while his hormones' glazed-eyed response was simply, _Ooh...pretty..._

_This might take a while to get used to,_ observed good ol' logic. 

_Used to what?_ hissed Cyclops, _We're _not_ "getting used" to this!_

_Sure, we are,_ the still unidentified voice said evenly. 

"I'm not letting you do this to yourself," Pietro declared, capturing Scott's attention again. "You finally have a chance at something _good_--I'm _not_ going to let you make the same mistake I did." 

"You...what?" Lance stared wide-eyed up at the dove-haired boy, his 'Fuck you!' attitude mellowing to a mild, 'I'm confused and--damn you!' standpoint. 

"I really liked someone," Pietro said quietly after a moment's thought. He sat down on the wooden bench and turned to watch Lance as the older boy hauled himself up beside him. 

"And sinc we're having a 'best friends fuzzy sharing moment,' I guess I'm obliged to tell you." 

"You'd damn well better," Lance replied, keeping up the pretense of the nonchalant façade despite the underlying solemnity of the conversation. Upon hearing his response, the sapphire-eyed boy relaxed marginally. 

"Do I know him?" The dark-haired teen inquired, studying the navy blue canvas that was the sky. The splatter-painted stars dotted the rich darkness, filling it with the hope of many dreams, universes, forgotten memories. 

"Yeah," Pietro nudged his shoulder against the other's, an impish grin lighting on his lips, "Why all the questions, Alvers?" 

"Yeah, well, now that I know you have this deep dark secret, I just gotta know." Lance smirked and mimicked Pietro, "Plus, if you've got a _thang_ for this guy..." 

"Oh, shut up," Pietro rolled his eyes and glanced around, "Look, I'll tell yo ulater. Right now, you have to find Summers and proclaim your undying love for him." 

Lance chucked, then peered about, "I don't know, I mea--" 

Pietro grinned and interrupted brightly, "Say no more, lancey! I'llgofindhimnow!" 

Before the umber-eyed boy could reply to that enthusiastic statement, the other teen disappeared with a whoosh of accompanying wind, the frigid air playing on his skin with sheer wintry exhilaration. 

_Dammit,_ Avalanche groaned, _let's stop him!_

_That's not possible,_ his logic noted tactfully. 

_I hope he finds Scottie soon,_ the hormones said earnestly. 

In response, the couch potato portion yelled, _WCW means 'we can't wrestle!'_

_How's that relevant?_ his logic inquired curiously while his mind muttered annoyedly, _Where are all these strange voices coming from?_

_Scotty 2 Hotty is a wrestler, though I don't know whether or not he's from the WCW,_ his hormones chimed in helpfully. 

_Hey, that's _wrong_, yo,_ was the ghetto-speak's response. 

_Where'd you come from?_ Avalanche demanded. 

_Stress,_ ghetto-speak said rather matter-of-factly, pointing at the jittery, huddled form in the corner. 

_Ow,_ logic noted, reasonable and detached as always. 

_Ow?_

Before Lance could figure out his thoughts, he heard a conspicuous rustle in the trees. 

_Red alert,_the drill sergeant persona yelled while paranoia jumped and looked around fretfully, _Help! They're coming for us!_

Cautiously--and under the guidance and careful supervision of Avalanchish instincts--the dark-haired boy approached the brush. 

_Crap!_ screeched Scott's mind. 

_You've been saying that an awful lot,_ observed logic. 

_Abandon ship! Abandon ship!_ barked Cyclops while whistles, alarms, and bells sounded. 

_When did we get a security system?_ asked the hormones, rather irked and metaphorically covering their metaphoric ears. 

Before logic could reply, it tumbled over, courtesy of one of many tripwires. 

_Ahhh! Where'd _that_ come from?!_

_We're all gonna die!_ squeaked paranoia, absently resetting the tripwire logic had dislodged. 

_What the hell are you all doing?!_ demanded Scott, frantically shrinking behind a tree. 

_Help me figure out where to go!_

The live-in psychologist scribbled furiously, _I think subconsciously you don't WANT to escape, ja?_

There was a startled silence before a chorus of "Where'd _he_ come from!?" echoed through his skull. 

_Headache,_ Scott thought despairingly. 

Fight-or-flight happily ran amuck. 

_We're all going to die!_

_It's Lance, not some rifle-toting android, you dimwit!_

_Good enough for me. Tell me where to aim, 01._

_01? Who's 01? And exactly why do we have a psychologist?_

_Like, we totally need one, yo._

_I've gotta go with Pippy Longstocking gone horribly wrong here. We're mental._

_'We?' 'WE??'_

_Red Leader calling squad number 23--ix-nay on the rap-cay and--_

_Shut the fuck up! Whee!_

_...not really. Stop goofing around! We're on a mission._

_Yes, boss lady._

_Lady!?_

_You PMS sooo--ahh! What are you do-aughhhguhhhahhhdehhhh...I can't breatheeee!!_

_You don't _need_ to breathe._

_Shut up, logic!_

_No, you guy shut up._

_Whose side are you on, hormones?!_

_Need you really ask???_

_I think he just wants some._

_The eagle has landed. Repeat--the eagle ha--_

"Scott?!" 

"Lance!" 

_Dude!_

_Whoa._

_Pie!_

_Er?_

(A/N: And so an illogical mental conversation leads to a Rocky Horror Picture-esque scene...) 

"Uh...hi Lance!" Scott waved slightly, feeling a flush of heat rise to his face. Stuttering slightly, he grinned nervously and said rapidly, "Um hey and uh, yeah, and um, and I-I mean, I didn't hear too much or a lot 'cause I wa-wasn't really _trying_ to overhe-hear you or anything, not that I don't _care_, but uh--that is--um I uh don't want to impose and uh y-yknow, make you guys nervou--I promise I won't tell anyone about what P-Pietro said--not that I heard or anything 'cause, y'know, I was trying not to hear but I hear some stuff and I--I...I......Lance?" 

The whole rambling tirade had only served to fuel the color in his cheeks, and throughout it all, Lance only silently stalked towards him, an unreadable emotion flashing in his eyes. 

_Aw, crap._

Upon seeing Scott cling to the tree, face flushed, ginger hair tousled, silvery crimson glasses glinting in the ethereal moonlight, he felt something warm in the pit of his stomach. 

_This is the part where we all let out a collective 'awww...'_ noted logic. 

_No,_ Avalanche growled, _I _refuse_ to be sappy...he's the enemy!_

_But lookit! He's so a_dor_able!_

_And you're just girly._

_I'm his hormones; I'm not _allowed_ to b--Wow! How cute!!_

Seeing the 'object of his desire' (as supplied by his excited hormones) looking so rumpled and sweetly anxious, he felt the warmth surge more strongly. 

_Should I be worried?_ inquired paranoia. 

_Nah,_ grinned the strangely chipper logic. 

His feet seemed to move on their own accord towards the other, sienna eyes still trained searchingly on the gleaming scarlet of Scott's visage. 

_Holy cr--what the hell are we doing?!_ demanded the costumed persona that was Avalanche. 

_Um..._ the rest of his mind drew a blank. 

"Lance," 

The sound of his name escaping such inviting lips sent a rippling chill down his back. His breath misted before him, a patch of crème white in the midnight sapphire that swathed them and painted the luminous trees a deep blue-green. With all the rampant thoughts and emotions, Lance hadn't noticed how chilly it had gotten. Not that he was near the russet-haired boy, though, he could see the other quaking and felt an abrupt compulsion to wrap both arms around the lithe frame. 

_He looks cold,_ observed logic before falling silent. Throughout it all, Scott was rambling-- 

_In the CUTEST way,_ his hormones noted, before Lance went back to ignoring them, feeling strangely detached. 

As the other boy's voice trailed off, Lance could almost imagine the distance between them diminishing, a corridor of moonbeams disappearing beneath the treading shadow of footsteps. 

Then, still ensnared by the glowing red of Scott's visage, Lance kissed him. 

_Oh. My. God._ Scott's mind froze, unable to process the dark-haired boy's actions. The scent of him, spicy, woody, tantalizing and giving him a heady feeling; the warmth emanating off of him, tanned skin, slender fingers, the palm of one hand wrapped lightly at the base of his skull; the feel of his lips, strangely soft yet firm, brushing tenderly past his own before pressing more urgently, tasting faintly of raspberries and feeling both warm and cool. Without conscious thought, he responded, a feeling of rightness flooding over him like a pool of sunshine. Then, reality came crashing down around him, and he jolted backwards, his breath ragged, frantic. From behind scarlet lenses, he could see Lance turn away slightly, seeming to be just as shaken as he was. Scott released an explosive breath and tried to ignore the overwhelming urge to run, 

"We need to talk." 

-- 

"I like you." 

Scott stared at him. 

"I-I mean, you're cool. I like um...right..." 

Lance sighed heavily, rubbing at his temples. This was a lot harder than he'd anticipated...well, harder than _Pietro'd_ anticipated. He glanced over at the prone teen, uncertainty tingeing his voice as he called hesitantly, "Scott?" 

The bespectacled mutant jerked slightly and glanced around, as if just coming out of a deep trance. 

"I...I mean, what uh...what kind of like?" Scott asked nervously, fidgeting with a blade of grass. 

(A/N: Beware. My muse just died.) 

"Um..." _Talking is baaad,_ Lance grimaced. "Like...I um...Ah, fuck," he cradled his head in his hands before pushing his bangs back from his face and peering out at the moonstone lake. 

"You know what kind," He told him wearily. 

Scott watched him quietly. He imagined the other's eyes glinting like two gleaming pieces of copper--cool brown, as Rogue described it--and yearned to see them, to gaze into them. 

"Yeah, I know," he replied softly, quailing the desire to flee the hazy surreal scene. 

Then, the hilarity of it all ran headlong into him, and he burst out laughing, unable to stop even as he flushed at Lance's curious look. 

_I'm sitting by a lake at who-knows-what time on a school night...having a heart-to-heart conversation with LANCE ALVERS..._

A small smile played over Lance's lips despite his probable confusion, and the chestnut-haired boy felt the last burbles of mirth slowly evaporate in favor for a silence full of awe. Lance blinked, inquiring amusedly, "Wanna tell me what's on your mind?" 

Scott's breath caught, eyes wide behind gleaming panes of ruby quartz. He flushed slightly, "I-I've never seen you..._smile_ before." 

Some of his amazement must have colored his voice, because the chocolate-haired teen gave a snort of laughter before replying dryly, "Yeah, well...it's been known to occasionally happen." 

Scott smiled again, feeling uncontrollably maniacal for some reason or other. Another chuckle escaped his lips, more hysterical than anything. 

"Look at us...have you ever seen anything that makes less sense?" 

Lance smiled slightly in response, "Not really..." 

Part of him noticed a darkness in the other's smile, but the reedy laughter continued, his lips frozen in a hard-pressed mimic of a happy grin. Behind his shades, his eyes brimmed with unshed tears, his lungs burned with shaky breaths, surging blood. 

"D-do you know what else?" 

Scott asked, feeling himself spinning out of control, still trembling with frantic mirth, "I-I fe-feel the _same_!" 

His hysterical laughter skyrocketed even as he felt Lance shove him against the back of the bench, even as he heard the dark-haired boy hiss angrily, "Don't you laugh about this--don't you _dare_ laugh about this, you bastard!", even as he tried to stop when he saw the glint of desperation, pain, desolation in Lance's eyes--all the emotion, all the _color_ he thought would be impossible to see through a haze of scarlet. 

Scott quivered, his chuckling hiccupping and transforming into a trail of surprisingly violent sobs. 

"I feel the same," he repeated in a hushed whisper, his head lolling to the side, jaw trembling, "I _feel_..." 

The russet-haired boy felt the other mutant press his cheek against his shoulder and buried his face into the black cloth, warm with Lance's skin beneath, dragging in uncontrollable breaths. Sharp, cold points of light sparked within the pulsating warmth of his closed eyelids. The sticky wetness of drying tears streaked his cheeks with their liquid pain and release, and he cried as he hadn't in so many, too many years. 

"God...I feel the same...I shouldn't; I don't deserve you or anyone but I--y--you--can't...I...can't...I can't, I can't..." 

The softness of lips at his temple halted his hysterical tirade, and he sobbed again, not tasting the saltiness of tears wetting his lips but only drinking down bitterness. 

"It's okay..." 

_God...oh, God, that man I killed...he'll never heard that...'It's okay...' _

"Scott, you gotta listen to me. You deserve to be happy...doesn't matter what you did or what you _think_ you are. Believe it." 

"Lance," Scott weakly tried to pull away, shoulders quaking with the effort, but felt strong arms tighten their embrace about him. He gladly tumbled back into the comforting warmth, grateful for the other boy's presence and feeling all the more guilty because of it. That emotion was lost, though, as one finger gently tilted his chin upwards, coaxing a sweetly tender kiss from his trembling lips. 

There was no klaxon or alarming symphony or heart-wrenching ballad; just the soft mingling of breaths, the shyly tentative meeting of questing eyes before they closed; starlit and obscured by scarlet, sienna and a forgotten color, washed out by too many bitter tears, too many crimes seen, too much reality blaring past widened eyes and too much pleasure denied. 

When the kiss ended, hanging in the sparkle-bright air, shining with moonlight, the two of them remained, awed in their own respective ways by the unbridled moment of clarity that had jetted over them with fire engine red passion and coffee dark enigma. 

The first to break the silence was Lance, who cleared his throat, his sienna eyes burnished with unspoken emotion. 

"Scott," he said quietly, his low voice sending a thrill racing along the other's spine, "You have to be honest with me..." 

Scott watched him, unsure of what to think. Part of him screamed, heralding a flood of betrayals to mind, and he felt himself begin to shake. 

"Where do you want to go with this?" 

The burnished saffron-haired mutant searched the honest dark eyes before him, feeling a guilty thrum of pleasure at knowing that Lance _trusted_ him... 

Scott flushed faintly, hating the heat tingeing his skin, and pulled away slowly from the gentle embrace of the other boy. Sitting down on the bench, he chewed ponderously on his lower lip. Through a haze of claret, Scott stared studiously out at the rippling moonlit lake, eyes unconsciously following the lapping tide as it swept in and out, in and out. 

_Where I want to go with this?_

"I...I--honestly? I-I don't know..." 

Lance frowned slightly, sitting down slowly, contemplatively beside him. 

"I--don't want it to stop, but..." 

The chestnut-haired boy hesitated, flushing uncomfortably. He wasn't sure why he had continued, but felt compelled to explain his 'I don't know.' 

"I...I need to think," Scott said at last, desperately, the heat in his cheeks almost unbearable. 

The lanky teen beside him nodded slightly, his stature pensive. Then, after a moment, he rose, limbs uncoiling with fluid grace. 

"I understand," he said shortly, his expression frighteningly blank. Lance paused, then reached out to trail tentative fingers over Scott's cheekbone, before whispering huskily, "Close your eyes." 

Amazingly enough, he felt himself comply, eyelids sliding shut almost sensually. He felt the coolness of his shades drag along his skin as fingers pulled them off carefully. Scott caught his breath, stilling as he felt gentle lips brush tenderly over one shuttered eye, then the other. At first, a burble of panic swelled to the forefront, but it subsided as he felt a softness glow within him at that ultimate act of trust. There was a brief moment of quiet where the hazy night hung suspended amongst the silvery-crimson stars. 

Scott felt the whisper of Lance's breath as the dark-haired boy's lips hovered by his brow before he withdrew, the rustle of clothing hissing through the quiet night as he stood. The smoothness of his scarlet shades were pressed to his palm, and he fumbled to put them back on only to open his eyes to emptiness. 

_Wha..._ Scott scanned the crimson landscape about him, eyes darting about as he searched for a trace of the other mutant. 

_Lance..._

Shrouded by the foliage of the treetops, Lance watched the bespectacled teen make his way out to his phoenix red car, seeming slightly dazed from their encounter. He smiled, lifting steady fingers to his lips, "I'll see you around, 'Summers,.'" 

And then, he disappeared into the night, leaving only his silent smile and an unnamed emotion, voice, thought waiting to be discovered. 

  
  
  


~tbc~ 

  


  
  


~Bohemia, bordered on the North by hope, work and gaiety; on the South by necessity and courage; on the West and East by slander and the hospital.~ 

~*~Henry Murger 


End file.
